Off The Pages

“Aw!” a ten-year-old cried. “Jer! You cheated!”

The two boys looked at the wreckage of their front yard after the game. The younger boy, short black hair thick around the top and thin around the edges, grass stains on his white shirt and black jean shorts, had hands on hips and pouted. The older boy, a teenager with ear-length sandy hair and a black tanktop, folded his arms over his chest and beamed with pride. “No, Lou,” the older boy announced, “I’m just better.”

“Jericho! Luther!” a woman shouted from the front porch. “Time to get inside and get cleaned up for dinner!”

“Got it, mom,” Jericho said, dashing up the short stairs.

“You’re five years older than your brother!” Suzanne chastised her eldest son. “You could at least let him win one in a while.”

The teen changed the subject. “Are we visiting my cousins this year?”

The mother’s lips curled inward at his question. “I don’t know, honey,” she finally announced, “it depends. They don’t come by, and we’re not going to up and go there unless they help us pay for the trip.”

“No point in flying us all out just to visit rich people,” Andrew, the father, said to his son from the entryway.

As Luther came running up the stairs, he’d caught the tail end of that. His brother and he knew of the tension between their mother and their grandfather, who they hadn’t met yet. They’d snuck into her room and read her personal musings on the subject. Her father was a company head, they knew, and had cut her out of the family fortune for partying too hard. Despite this, she’d made it as a university professor and had met their father at the same college, and everything appeared to work smoothly. Luther had the same idea as his mother. He saw wealth as something not to be worshipped in and of itself. His brother seemed to have a different idea, but the world their grandfather lived in struck the younger boy as one he didn’t want to live in.

After the boys washed up, Suzanne dished out the family dinner. As the family ate, she couldn’t help but think of how lucky she was. As a daughter of Johann Torrell, she’d been the public face of the family shame on more than one occasion. As a younger woman, there had been many moments she wasn’t proud of, and all that partying had earned her the axe. Of course, it was due to her enormous privilege that she came out of it on even footing and having landed a job as a professor didn’t hurt. She couldn’t help but feel strangely thankful to her father, the billionaire and corporate executive of the Torrell Group, because it had been his cutting her off that set her on the right path.

“When am I going to see grandpa?” Jericho asked.

She saw his genuine expression of curiosity and tried to avoid looking too dour. The boy gave her a sense of relief on one hand, and dread on the other. First of all, he took to hard work quite well, and didn’t complain nearly as much as some other kids his age. He did his chores ahead of time and made sure he did things right. On the other hand, what really concerned her was his lack of empathy. It didn’t seem antisocial to her, but he was challenged in regard to the plights of other people.

“When I decide he’s ready to see you,” she said.

Luther looked up from his plate. “I thought you didn’t hate him,” he said, repeating what he heard before.

“Your mother doesn’t hate him,” Andrew cut in. “It’s just that he’s not the kind of person we want around. I don’t think he cares about anything the way he cares about money.”

Suzanne decided enough was enough and set down her fork. “I used to hate him for cutting me off,” she admitted. “When I was younger, I thought he ruined my chance to live it up. I was a dumb twenty-something. Now I see it was the best thing to ever happen to me. I learned life is more than just having it all.”

Luther felt like he understood. His brother seemed more like the kind of guy who’d be into money like his grandfather. He loved Jericho, but the older boy could get selfish at times.

Jericho wanted to protest, but instead, went back to his food. Soon enough, it would be his turn to go out into the world and make his mark. He would prove it was possible to have a lot of money and care about more than wealth. He knew he didn’t have a plan for that, but it was his goal, nonetheless.

Three weeks later, an event occurred that threw the wheels into motion, the will of Suzanne and Andrew be damned. Johann Torrell arrived. The Jaguar sat at the end of the driveway, shiny and black, and out of it, stepped a graying man in a suit as expensive as the two-story, four-bedroom Chicago suburb house in front of him. He knocked on the door, and when it opened, Suzanne stood agape, staring. Neighbors peeked out of doorways at the sight. The smile he gave her showed the pearly white teeth and his finely coiffed hair gave off the executive image he worked hard for. “Suzanne,” he said, his slight German accent present. “It’s good to see you. You sure landed on your feet.”

She exhaled a long time. Skeptical eyes analyzed him head to toe. “Father,” she uttered. A pregnant pause followed. “I thought we discussed this. I didn’t want you to just barge in. Why are you here?”

He sighed. “We’ve only talked on the telephone,” he explained. “I understand why you’re reluctant to see me, but I want to see my grandchildren.”

“I know you’re used to seeing everything go your way,” she shot back, “but I would’ve liked to be in charge of that decision.”

“How much longer,” he asked, “do we have to just talk about it before I can see them?”

“Dad,” she replied, “I don’t hold a grudge against you cutting me off. In fact, I’m glad you did. This isn’t about that.”

He gestured outward, hurt. “Then what the hell is this about?”

She huffed. “It’s about,” she replied, “you being here to recruit my sons. You want to try and hit them with propaganda to sway them into your world. I’m alive today, dad, because I didn’t stay in your world. Understand that I don’t want you dragging them into yours.”

“I wasn’t here to do that,” he insisted. “And furthermore, that’s their decision, not yours.”

“Grandpa?”

Everyone turned in the direction of the young voice. The older man dropped to a crouching position. “You must be Luther!” Johann Torrell said, meeting the boy at eye level.

Luther recognized the man from the pictures his mother had. “Hi, sir,” he uttered, as the man held him in a tight embrace.

Suzanne watched her father hug her youngest son and remained skeptical. This was a man who she’d seen get people’s names intentionally wrong to prove a point.

“Grandfather!” Jericho cried.

Johann held his arms wide, and the older boy dashed into the embrace. “I have wanted so much to meet you!” he cried.

“I wanted to meet you too!” Jericho shouted.

Luther remained skeptical as well. This man resembled a comic book supervillain in his eyes. After all, his outfit had a whole bunch of layers. He saw the suit jacket, the vest under that, and the shirt under that. Who wore outfits with that many layers, except the bad guys in comics? Besides, the hair looked like the kind of ’do that he’d heard his dad make fun of in private.

“Where are you guys going?” Johann asked, returning to a standing position.

“We were about to head out for a celebration dinner,” Andrew explained, heading outside to see the verbal fracas. “The boys placed first in a regional math and science quiz championship.”

“You and mom don’t get along?” Jericho asked.

“I…uh, it’s not so straightforward,” Johann said to the boy. “We have a complex history together.”

Suzanne wanted to slap the man. This was his gimmick. He put himself in situations where he seemed like the innocent party despite being forcing his way. “It would be rude of me not to invite you,” she said, “but it’s not only up to me.”

“You can come,” Andrew decided, “but you better not make comments about the food.”

“I had proper manners as part of my formal education,” Johann bragged, ignoring the look shot at him.

“Kids,” Suzanne said, “go get ready and try not to take too long.”

Jericho and Luther went up stairs to change their clothes and get washed up. The younger boy washed his face and hands and toweled off. “Grandpa seems…” Luther trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Amazing?” Jericho offered.

“No,” Luther corrected, “fake. He seems fake.”

Jericho washed himself off and dried. “He’s rich,” the teen argued. “They all have to seem that way.”

“I wouldn’t wanna be like that,” Luther countered.

“Aw, you’re just jealous,” Jericho countered.

“He’s gotta act a certain way?” Luther argued. He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t wanna have to do that.”

“I’m gonna be rich like him someday,” Jericho stated.

Luther rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “Sure. And it’ll be because they look at you and know you’re his grandson.”

“No way!” Jericho shot back. “It’ll be because I went out and did it.”

“Right,” Luther said, sarcasm dripping.

When they came downstairs, Jericho marveled at the older man. Something his mother didn’t like about him, just sat perfectly well with the boy. This man, he realized, had real power in the world. Without having to do a thing or say a word, he commanded respect with his mere presence alone. The man had ways of getting what he wanted, regardless of the obstacles in his way. It was a place Jericho wanted to be. It was a position he craved. Luther, by contrast, could not be less impressed. He saw a man who had to put utter concentration and worry on money and status. The younger boy could not want less to be in that situation.

“Let me drive the boys,” Johann offered. “I’d like to take the chance to get to know them.”

Suzanne found her teeth clenching in frustration, and she had to will it to stop. Prick has to show off, she thought. “Why not?” she asked, mock politeness in her voice. “Saves me the trouble.”

“We’re going to the Denny’s across from the Walgreen’s,” Andrew pointed out.

“It’s your family celebration,” Johann replied. The boys climbed into the backseat of the huge luxury car. “Are you boys read?”

“Absolutely!” Jericho cheered.

“Yes, sir,” Luther said.

As he pulled the car out of the driveway, he saw the neighbors examine the car. He knew the boys saw it as well, and that they would want to ask questions. All he had to do was drive and wait.

“Grandfather?” Jericho asked, sheepishly.

“Hmm?” The businessman replied.

“How did you get so rich?”

The older man smiled at his grandson’s question. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the expression, the curiosity. The boy had a natural hunger and curiosity that anyone could see a mile away. Here, he realized, was someone destined to be somebody. This kid would never grow up to be a worthless lay about, like so many, a nobody destined to leech off the hard work of better people like a parasite. This was a kid who was going places. Places, he hoped, that included the world of big business and Wall Street.

“My grandfather came to this country before the turn of the century,” Johann explained, “and got a job repairing tractors and other machines. My father and a friend of his turned it into a business, and when I inherited it, I expanded it into a multinational company in a bunch of diverse fields.”

“That’s amazing!” Jericho exclaimed.

“I guess,” Luther added.

“Luther?” Johann asked. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

The younger boy pondered. Finally, he turned his head upward. “What do you do for fun?”

The child’s question drew a chuckle out of the man. “When you’re as busy as I am,” he offered, “there isn’t much time for fun.” He collected his words. “I mostly like to watch live theater and the opera, I’m a big fan of symphony orchestra, and sometimes, I drive fast cars around the racetrack.”

Only the last of those interested Luther in the slightest. “I get it,” he said, not wanting to be dismissive.

“What books do you read?” Jericho asked.

Luther shot him a look. Honestly, he figured, he didn’t want to read any books that this guy thought of as interesting. They were the kind of books most likely to be dry reads, focusing on money and real life.

Johann Torrell was smiling inside. Jericho had asked the question he sincerely hoped the boy would ask. He loved his daughter and his youngest grandson, but they weren’t going anywhere close to the world the chairman and CEO lived in. This boy had the chance to wind up in the correct place. Suzanne had been right about her father’s reason for coming, but now he had a perfectly plausible reason to get what he came for. The boy had asked himself, after all.

“I’ve got a whole list I could give you,” Johann said. “But honestly, I learned a lot about how things should be from the works of Ayn Rand.”

Jericho then asked the question would shape his future.

“If I read that,” the boy asked, “I can be more like you?”

This time the businessman did laugh out loud. “Not so easy, I’m afraid!” he explained. “Honestly, it’s just a starting point.”

As the luxury car pulled into the Denny’s parking lot, Suzanne looked in and saw the bookstore shopping bag in the backseat, next to her oldest son. A feeling of rage suddenly overcame her. “Father?” she asked, fire in her voice. “Can I talk to you?”

He let out a nasal sigh. “Before you say a word,” he defended, “the boy asked for it himself. I didn’t force it on him. Hell, I didn’t even bring it up! He did.”

“He’s just a child!” she shouted. “You’re buying him propaganda to read before he’s old enough to know how to counter it!”

“Suzanne,” Johann said, trying to calm her down, “he’s fifteen. Besides, he asked me a question and I gave him an answer. If he doesn’t like it, then that’s his decision. Please don’t take it from him.”

She fumed. “Alright! Fine!” she exclaimed. “I’ll let him read what he wants, but you! You’re going to cut this shit out!”

“Alright!” Johann said, putting his hands up in a mock defensive gesture. “I won’t tell him anymore!”

“I’ve seen you pull crap like this before,” she told him, “and this isn’t one of your business partners to recruit.”

“Mom?” Luther asked, stepping out of the car. “Is something wrong?”

She looked at him and saw the genuine concern on his face. “No, honey,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

They went in and ate, and the event proceeded uneventfully from there. Johann, however, sat pleased with himself. He’d gotten exactly what he came for. First, he’d finally met his grandchildren, and his flawless sense of the worth of things and individuals put each person precisely in the category that best suited them. He’d found talent, which was the second thing he’d intended. Jericho would wind up in the world of the Torrell family and their workings in big business, and he didn’t have to do anything to foster that desire. The boy wanted to be somebody and would claw and scratch his way up the ladder if need be. Unlike several members of his family, including some of his own children, this boy wouldn’t need nepotism to push himself up. He could have cheered at the thought.

He would finally get to see someone pull themselves up by their bootstraps.

He had longed to see such a success story to legitimize his viewpoints and he was going to get it. As someone who’d raised several children and had seen every kind of person come and go in the world of big business, he recognized the look on Jericho’s face. The boy had that killer instinct in him to succeed. The world of Wall Street and corporate America required one to be willing to step across a mine field and throw empathy and compassion to the wind in the name of success. It had been his goal to see if either of Suzanne’s children had what it took. Jericho had the right first start. Would he succeed? No one knew for sure, but he had faith.

Suzanne shot hateful glances at her father in between bites of food and attempts to be cordial. She knew why he was here. The man had all the narcissistic control freak tendencies a corporate head and Forbes billionaire could be expected to have. He was a notorious pusher who got what he wanted and didn’t care who he stepped on to get it. Each of his children had to show their children to him and he made sure to place his influence in their path. He exuded the Virtue of Selfishness and every child of the Torrell family got the bibliography of Ayn Rand to read. He’d come here looking to expand his empire and his sphere of influence, and what’s worse, she knew Jericho would eat it up. It pissed her off.

Time progressed without fail. Jericho indeed went in the direction his mother feared and his grandfather desired. As more and more books on investing and business got digested, the boy became a young adult and earned a full scholarship to Harvard Business School. Luther found himself drifting away from his brother, mostly because the elder boy stopped being fun to hang around with. Jericho had always managed to get into adventures with his brother, but after a while, he became the kind of stuffed shirt that the younger boy found so boring. Luther pursued his interests with vigor and passion. He played the guitar and formed a band.

One day, Jericho came back on a break from school, and after they both visited their parents’ house, they went back to the house Luther had bought. The eighteen-year-old younger brother sat in his kitchen and poured himself a ginger ale.

Jericho, already independently wealthy by this point off his own investments, looked at the modest house with the yellow seventies’ décor and the aging appliances with disdain. The thing that really set him off, however, was the sight of his bandmates sleeping on his floor on air mattresses, and on his couch. They had their things set out in boxes around the living room and in free space in other areas of the house. He gestured for his little brother to step outside, and shut the door.

“Luther,” he said, “are you supporting these people?”

The younger brother let out a disbelieving chuckle and looked shocked at him. “Are you,” he began, anger simmering up from the bottom of his voice, “asking me how I spend my money? I don’t have to explain to you how I spend my money. Mister Ayn Rand worship should know better.”

A scoff escaped the older brother. “Seriously?” he exclaimed. “We both know you’re the only one of them with any talent, and here you are, footing the bill for them to live at your house.”

“It’s my house and my money,” Luther said. “I may not be rich like you, but if I want to support these people, these brothers-in-arms of mine, who’ve been with me through thick and thin, that’s my prerogative.”

“They’re using you!” Jericho shouted. “Besides, how did you make that money, anyway?”

Luther folded his arms. “I don’t believe this,” he said. “You know how you always brag about your stocks when you talk to mom? I just follow what you do. Besides, I also have a job of my own. Sure, it’s only managing a bookstore, but still, I do just fine.”

“It’s a shame because you have actual talent,” Jericho countered. “If you had a proper group of musicians you could have made it already. Instead, these losers keep holding you back from succeeding. Worse, you’re funding their worthlessness!”

“You know,” Luther argued, blinking in disbelief, “they were there for me. You know, when I got depressed and our parents were there, but you weren’t?” He laughed. “You offered to give me money, but you wouldn’t come over and talk to me?” A short gasp escaped his lungs. “Money! Fucking money when I could’ve used actually support!” Before Jericho could retort, a memory came back to him. “Oh, remember when you broke your leg in that accident? Remember how your grandfather, the man you practically worship, wasn’t fucking there?”

Jericho rolled his eyes. “Good god,” he scoffed. “He wasn’t supposed to be there, he had a lot of more important things to do.”

“It wasn’t necessary?” Luther half-asked, half-gasped. “You mean it wasn’t in his…oh what’s the term…rational self-interest?”

“No!” Jericho shouted without thinking. “No, it wasn’t!”

The older brother’s shout drew a disbelieving expression of shock from both as soon as the words got out. “Un-fucking-believable,” Luther uttered. “You want to take after a person like that?”

“I want to take after a person who took full advantage of his opportunities and capabilities!”

Luther rolled his eyes. “No,” he countered, “what you want is to take after a person who takes advantage of people.”

Jericho started as if prodded by a taser. “You take that back,” he replied, “you’re just jealous I’m on the fast track, that I’m doing something with my life.”

“I’m doing the things that make life worth living,” Luther argued. “Believe it or not, if I never make it big, there’s no skin off my ass.”

“It’s a damn shame you’re ok with this,” Jericho shot back.

“I just hope you don’t wake up one morning and realize you’re forty-five with a whole lot of money,” the little brother retorted, “and realize you have no actual friends who care about you beyond how much money you’re worth.”

Jericho huffed. “Well,” he said, a half-sneer forming, “I’m at least going to make one of those things come true.”

“If you have any other business,” Luther stated, “you can say it now, otherwise, please leave.”

As Jericho gathered his bag and headed to his rental car, he shook his head. “I’m not bailing you out of this if this venture of yours goes south,” he warned.

“I’ve known that for years,” Luther snapped back.

After that, they separated and didn’t speak to each other much for years. Jericho made good on his determination and started fresh out of Harvard with his M.B.A. and quickly got started at an investment firm. After two years of taking crap from superiors and investing his and other people’s money, Jericho quickly shot up the ladder until he had enough capital to start his own investment firm. After endless grinding and sweating the touring circuit of local bars and small-time music festivals, two and a half years of frustration had led the leftist band Blood on The Breadline lead by Luther to get an actual record deal. His mother pitched in to get a decent lawyer so her son could have actual representation, and their socialist lyrics and heavy metal sound managed to hit the big time.

It was at a taping of a tv interview for their debut album, Dead Fascists Make Good Lawn Gnomes, on it having reached quintuple platinum in just a month of sales, where he learned his brother had hit a milestone.

Across the hallway, in a different room, he was being interviewed on live television for having become the latest member of the Forbes Billionaires list.

“We’re here with the latest member of the Billionaires list,” the pundit said, introducing. “He founded his own investment firm, he’s got a private worth of one point eight billion, and he’s not even thirty yet!” The pundit took a pause to get audience applause. “Is he just that good at picking stocks, or does he possess the wisdom of Solomon?” Laughter emerged from the audience. “With me today, is the talk of the Street, Jericho Torvalds!”

“Nice to be here,” Jericho said, making sure his tie sat perfectly straight on his Armani suit.

“So,” the pundit began, turning his chair to his interviewee, “twenty-seven years old, worth over a billion dollars, founder of a new but already very successful investment firm, how do you do it?”

Luther sat, unbeknownst to his brother, staring at the spectacle of money worship at this altar of disposable capitalism. Still, he did still love his brother, and it pained him to see the boy he had fun playing with as a child grow up to be among these bloodsucking leeches. His band had finally made it big, and his good contract gotten by a great lawyer gave him more money than he ever anticipated, but it wasn’t scant pennies compared to the egregious wealth his brother was hoarding for these parasites.

Jericho gave a chuckle and a cordial smile. “It’s actually fascinating how I got here,” he explained. “I didn’t have my grandfather’s money to fall back on, so I had to earn my keep. My parents are both professors, so I grew up in an environment of learning. I had to learn everything and just keep plugging away at it.” He paused. “I was taught to learn from every source I could find and that’s what I did.”

The pundit nodded. “You credit Ayn Rand and the philosophy of laissez-faire capitalism for your success,” he pointed out.

“When I met my grandfather, I was fifteen,” Jericho explained. “He offered to buy me any book I wanted, and I asked him what book made him successful, so that’s what I read.” The audience laughed and cheered. “It worked. I learned about the morality of capitalism. The investing skills, though, I had to develop those on my own.”

“And what investing skills they are!” the pundit cheered. “In four years’ time you’ve turned tens of thousands of dollars into over a billion dollars. Don’t keep us in the dark. How?”

Jericho leaned back in the chair. “Where do I begin?” he asked. “You have to realize the market isn’t reality. The market is based on investors’ perceptions of reality. Once I realized that, it made my job a lot easier. You have to invest based on what people think, rather than what you expect to happen in the world. You react to people reacting to the world.” He paused. “If that makes sense.”

“You’ve made billions for others,” the interviewer asked, “and over a billion for yourself. Are you worried the gravy train will end?”

“Ha ha,” he replied, “not really. I mean, every investor worries about that, but I recession-proof my investments by converting a lot to cash after a huge success. That way, we cover our cash flow problems before they exist.”

The pundit cocked his head. “Doesn’t that raise your taxes?”

“It does,” Jericho said, “but it also means we still have a lot of assets in the event of a disastrous market fluctuation. When we succeed, we succeed big. When we fail, we fail small.”

“A bit counterintuitive,” the pundit noted. “I like it!”

The interview persisted from there, but Luther got up and left. That had been all the shameless money-worship he could stand. He had just stepped out the front door of the building when he heard running footsteps.

“Luther!” Jericho shouted.

“Jericho,” Luther flatly acknowledged.

“I didn’t know you were coming to see me!” Jericho shouted. “I thought you didn’t care!”

“You’re my brother,” Luther said, approaching. “I love you. But I wasn’t just here for you. My band finally made it big and we were getting interviewed.”

“I heard,” Jericho said. “That’s a hell of an accomplishment.” Despite everything, he felt good that his brother had actually made it. What bothered him, though, was that he could have been here a lot sooner.

“Thank you,” Luther replied, stifling emotion. “That means a lot to me.” What stung him was that his grandfather and a hack writer who’d been dead for two decades had gotten their meat hooks in him. “I just couldn’t continue to sit there and watch this worship of wealth and the people who value money more than human life.”

“Oh, Christ, not this shit again,” Jericho uttered. “Why can’t you just see things my way?” He’d grown weary of Ayn Rand and her ideology getting between them.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t support this world you live in,” Luther explained.

Jericho gestured in disbelief. “You’re rich now,” he said. “Hell, you’re only likely to get richer.”

“I’ve given as much money to charity as you,” Luther countered, “and you’re about nine hundred times richer than me.”

Jericho’s arms shot out to his side. “That’s because I’m not subscribed to an ideology that makes people into victims!” he shouted. “My god, when are people responsible for themselves? Why are we always expected to prop them up?”

“I hope you never have to suffer like some people,” Luther shot back. “Like the ones who are never able to prop themselves up.”

“Like your bandmates?”

A painful silence passed over. “You…” Luther began.

“Yeah,” Jericho said. “I know I hit a nerve with that one. You’ve paid their bills, you’ve bailed a few out of jail, you’re practically their sugar daddy, and for what? So they could one day maybe pay you back?” He laughed. “You could’ve been so much more so much faster if you’d thought of yourself once in a while!”

“You fucking…!” Luther’s statement cut off as he punched his brother straight in the face.

“Touch a nerve?” Jericho asked, picking himself up and brushing blood off his lip. “Just goes to show you what I say is true.”

“Fuck you!” Luther shouted, crashing into his brother in a whirling mass of fists and feet clumsily slamming into each other.

As quickly as the scuffle began, a crowd pulled each one apart. “Proves my point,” Jericho said. “You have no response to that.”

“You’re a sad piece of shit!” Luther swore. “You’re a sad little fucker sitting atop his huge pile of money! Well, fuck you Jericho!”

After that, they swore off speaking to one another. Jericho always felt bothered by the fact that Luther’s desire to put others before himself was holding him back. Luther, on the other hand, felt his older brother had sacrificed compassion and empathy in exchange for a giant bank account and the attention of fake friends who wouldn’t be there except for the money.

When the Lights happened, Luther had been walking the street in L.A. after a show. He stood and stared, along with dozens of other people outside. Days later, when the news reported that people were starting to show superpowers, he figured his brother would get some, it just seemed like the natural way things would go.

One day, not long after, he was venturing out when he came across a woman sitting on a bench staring at a television in an electronics store window. On screen, the news reported that a man had set fire to a local police station over a possible racial issue. “Crazy world we live in,” she said. “Guy walked up and fired something out of his hands. Would you believe that?”

“I would,” Luther said. “Strange. They say powers are popping up.”

She laughed. “Do you believe that?” she asked.

At that instant, he felt a presence in his mind. A twinge appeared, somewhere in the back of his mindscape. Words didn’t seem quite adequate. A thought came to him an instant later. The power called to him, made itself known. He focused his mental sight on it and found it in one of two states. Currently, it was in the off position. He flipped it on, curiosity getting the better of him.

A fire hose of emotions, images, and other thoughts raced through his mind with lightning speed. The man accused of burning the police station had somehow become a wellspring of information. Luther’s power gave him every detail about the man, including why he did it, how, and all the other relevant details. In an instant of real time, he knew everything about the action and the man that did it. When the vision ended, he had forgotten he was standing, and he struggled for balance.

“Oh, crap,” the woman exclaimed, “are you okay?” She was worried because he started tilting on his feet, but her question died in her mind when he stumbled and placed a hand on her shoulder to stabilize himself. All at once, everything he’d been shown came to her. “What in the hell?” She pulled away, startled.

He pulled away and fled, turning the power off. What was this ability? He could get a complete handle on someone just by thinking about them and activating it? Whatever it meant, he would have to figure it out. At first, he started small, he would listen in and whenever people found themselves unable to understand someone, he would brush up against them very stealthily and give the information to them. With effort and refinement, he could focus on one event or the entire person, and he discovered he didn’t have to know much about the target at all. It filled him with glee; he could help the world understand what the ‘other’ was thinking. Still, he wasn’t a naïve moron, he knew some old prejudices wouldn’t go away. Either way, any help was help.

His first outings he took slow and safe. Major political groups around city hall were a start. Regardless of party, neither side seemed to understand the motivations of the other. He set out to change that. Each time a tour led him to a city, he would use some of his free time to affect some understanding in the world. One thing he came across was a common theme. Most people who had powers understood they weren’t the only one with powers. Most didn’t get into fights because they simply didn’t feel like the fighting type.

Luther found out Jericho had precisely the power that suited him. The Wall Street billionaire gained the ability to copy powers. It struck the younger brother as a cosmic slap in the face. In any case, he expected his brother to be swift about gathering powers like the greedy miser he was.

What he never expected was to see his brother on the news admitting he was wrong about race after meeting with Sharon Francis of all people.

Luther had left the voicemail. Twenty minutes later, he got a phone call.

“Luther!” Jericho cheered. “I’m so glad to talk to you.”

“Tell me you’re not fucking with me,” Luther replied.

“You were right all along,” Jericho said. “Honestly, I’m damn lucky. One of the powers I copied allowed me to relive people’s memories, and so I’ve had my horizons expanded.”

Luther paused to take this in. “That’s funny,” he said. “I’ve got an empathy power, and I wonder if it’s related.”

“Let’s meet,” Jericho replied. “There’s a lot to catch up on, and honestly, I think you’ve got a lot to tell me.”

Luther cleared his throat. “I hope you’re sincere about this,” he said, “because we’ve got a hell of a lot to discuss.”

“I know,” Jericho replied, “and there’s some people I want you to meet.”